


Shared Hope

by AuntieEm30



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Civil War can go screw itself, Eventual superfamily, FML this is going to be slow-burn, Gen, IT DOESN'T HAPPEN, Irondad, M/M, SHIELD is in New York not DC, Sam and Sharon will be here eventually and they're awesome, asthmatic character, better communication than in canon, can it even be called any kind of burn with the way I write romance?, discontinued, exploration of depression / ptsd, gradual stony, more like comfortable toasty-ness, no self-harm planned, or if it does it will be WAY different, peter parker has always been peter stark, short anxiety / panic attacks, sorry about rating change I hadn't realized I was including swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 06:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14279382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntieEm30/pseuds/AuntieEm30
Summary: Steve has spent the months following the battle of New York working a bit for SHIELD, but mainly just trying to acclimate to the new century and cope with all the sudden changes.  It's not going terribly well, and he's getting worse than he realizes when he runs into one little boy named Peter in a park.  Peter's health isn't the best and he seems lonely, so Steve invites him to draw with him.  Over weeks they develop a bond that makes a small dent in the weight pressing down on him, but things change when he realizes who Peter's father is.*DISCONTINUED* - see first chapter notes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Why am I starting a new fic when I could be finishing my other ones, or doing, gasp, schoolwork? Because I'm a glutton for punishment, apparently, and my superfamily feels have not been quite yet satisfied.
> 
> UPDATE: I don't know if anyone still cares about this one, but I don't have superfamily feels anymore, my thoughts on Tony have changed too much to want to continue with this, and my focus has shifted to working on more professional stuff / original content. All that being said, I want to reiterate the importance of getting professional help in dealing with trauma when it's needed, and not making assumptions about people (quieter or more stoic people like Steve, for example) in regards to how they show or don't outwardly show their mental health issues. Thanks for sticking with me as long as you did / have.

He’d done his cross-country road trip. He’d seen, and experienced, and listened, and tasted, and learned. Discovered so many of the ways in which the country, the world had changed - and many ways it was still the same.

And then he’d come back. Settled into his apartment. Reported to S.H.I.E.L.D. Carried out missions here and there. Kept up the exercise, because it was important, but mostly… it was routine. It was something he didn’t have to think so much about.

It passed the time.

It all helped… for a while.

**********

It wasn’t enough - not for long. He’d been back from his trip for four months now. He hadn’t been called in for an actual mission in almost two. He was getting tired of putting holes in punching bags - and he’d already had to buy a new pair of running shoes because he’d worn nearly clean through the first pair he’d gotten since he woke up. He was in perfect physical health (something he was still damn grateful for), but… he was tired. So tired all the time no matter how much he slept, which made absolutely no sense. Tense and silently irritable no matter how much frustration he worked out. Shoulders tight, jaw clenched… flinching at sudden noises that turned out to be far too mundane to warrant it.

He’d briefly explored the idea of getting a regular part-time job just to have something to focus on… until he’d made inquiries over the phone and the newfangled email (under an alias), heard about the minimum “experience” requirements for even most entry-level positions, and realized that in this city, hundreds of savvy teenagers would be hired before him. He made himself be happy on their account. He’d have to come up with something else productive to do. Being in an apartment meant he couldn’t have a regular vegetable garden, which he always wanted back before Ernstein but couldn’t afford, but one window got enough sun… someone at the home repair superstore said something about growing small quantities in pots indoors…

Whatever this… weight in the air that was creeping up on him was, he’d just have to fight it off the old-fashioned way. Somehow.

**********

Today was… not a good day.

He’d slept until past ten, which was just unnatural for him. He’d dragged himself through the motions of making himself late breakfast (always just himself, there was no one else to make it for, none of his men to share it with), not invigorated by the scents of cooking bacon and brewing coffee the way he used to be… the way that was normal for him. 

Just the thought of heading out for his regular running route again made him want to beat his head against the wall. But if he stayed another minute in this apartment, he might put a fist through said wall too.

He grabbed his sketchbook and pencils, and walked. And walked, wandering with no destination or even a real awareness of where he was going. It was a surprise he hadn’t accidentally walked into traffic, to be honest. 

He must have unconsciously been looking for… something, because when he finally bothered to take in his surroundings again, he found himself in a public park, adjacent to what seemed to be an elementary school or kindergarten. How young did kids get to start school these days?

He sat down at a picnic table across the walking path from a playground - it looked like a teacher was taking a class past the school fence into the park for recess - pointing out boundaries for the kids, of course. He sat, and watched passively around him, and let the sounds of childish shouting and laughter wash over him… pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders. It was late September, and everyone around him, even the little kids, seemed fine with just sweaters or even t-shirts - and here he was in his leather jacket, and still somehow chilled.

He was cold more often than not, lately… which didn’t make sense. He knew his temperature post-serum ran equal to or slightly higher than a normal human’s. But still, he felt a near-constant chill on his skin, when he wasn’t working out - which he was doing somewhat less of lately. He didn’t raise the thermostat in his apartment though - no sense in using more gas than necessary. So he sat, and watched, and told himself that this was why he was still fine - because these people could still go to a park without worrying about air raids, and these kids could play care-free without having to wonder whether rationing would mean they didn’t get to eat every day of the week or not. They still had that, so he was fine.

Slowly, deliberately, he opened the sketchbook.

It got easier once he started and built up some internal momentum. The trees, the dappled shadows they cast on the grass, the playground, a smattering of people - he captured it all, committing it to paper where their happiness, where their lives could last a bit longer.

He paused, looking his sketch over, trying to see if there was anything left out. To check, he looked back out across the scene in front of him. His eyes swept over everything, before pausing and backtracking - there was something different.

One little boy wasn’t playing and running and shouting with the other children. Instead, he sat at the base of a tree nearby, with a surprising thick book in his hand (for what Steve estimated was a kindergartener). He seemed to have difficulty focusing on it, though, with the noise from the kids nearby. He seemed huddled in his thick, good quality-looking sweater, and he struggled to keep reading for a few moments, before suddenly laying it down, looking to be in minor distress. As Steve watched, the boy pulled from his pocket what he now recognized as an inhaler, and took a breath from it.

He wasn’t prepared for the pang of sympathy that punched into him. For a moment, it was almost as if the past few years (from his perspective) had never happened, and he was just skinny, sickly, no-future punk Steve again.

Thankfully, it looked like between one and two out of those three didn’t apply here. Despite his thin frame and pale skin, besides the respiratory trouble he looked relatively healthy, and certainly well taken care of - especially considering that he attended what looked like a pretty good school. And judging by his reading material, he was probably pretty darn smart. Even if he never experienced a fraction of the transformation of physical health that Steve had, things had changed - and he was almost certain to be able to make something of himself he could be proud of. 

Steve didn’t know why he was suddenly thinking about it so much.

Maybe because in spite of what he had going for him on the surface, he could see the little boy frequently cut glances to the kids running and jumping and playing - not just in irritation, but also in… yearning. And no wonder, Steve realized with another kick of sadness - because more importantly, the other kids were all playing and laughing together.

God, did he know what that felt like. Seeing it here in the new century was almost physically painful.

“Would you like to draw instead?”

The boy suddenly looked over at him, as he was busy sitting in shock at hearing the words in his own voice. Had he said that out loud?

The boy furrowed his brows at him. Yep, he’d said it out loud. Nice going, Rogers.

“Me?” The kid’s quiet voice could barely be heard through the noise over the short distance, but Steve’s ears caught it. He took a deep breath - might as well answer and not make the kid think he was crazy on top of reckless.

“Yeah,” he replied, in as calm and non-threatening a voice as he could muster. “I just… I just noticed you not playing with the others, but looking like you want to. And I noticed your inhaler - I used to have breathing trouble too, I know it can be rough. If you don’t want to spend recess alone, I have pencils, and lots of spare paper. I mean, if you want. No problem if you don’t.” By the end of his yammering episode, his heart was beating unexpectedly fast, not quite believing he’d made such an offer to a random young kid, and bizarrely worried about the response he’d get. 

The little boy peered at him intently. “What’s your name, mister?” He blinked.

“Steve.” The boy pondered, before replying.

“Peter.” He kept considering the man at the table, his serious expression in odd contrast to his young face. “You promise we stay right here near everyone else, Mr. Steve, and that you don’t offer me any candy or anything? You promise you’re on the up and up?”

Steve barely had a moment to process how damn adorable it was to hear such a childish voice using such a slick phrase, before quickly nodding.

“Of course. We stay right here, I don’t have any candy to offer, and I’m definitely on the up and up. I promise.” The boy, Peter, looked at him through squinted eyes a moment longer, before nodding, closing his book, and standing to make his way to the table. He climbed up onto the bench opposite from Steve, who was carefully tearing blank pages out of his sketchbook as nonchalantly as possible. He counted out his breaths in his head, distantly relieved to be actually be… feeling something for a change, something other than irritation or heaviness or minute moments of panic or just plain numbness - even if it was a new sort of worry.

But it was fine. Right?

He’d just invited a lonely-looking kid to draw with him in a perfectly well-supervised park, for heaven’s sake. He wasn’t crazy.

Peter just looked at him openly before Steve passed him a pencil. “So what kind of things do you like to draw, Peter?” He shrugged.

“Lots of things. Robots, and dragons, and pretty buildings. And cats,” he added as an afterthought.

“Cats?” Steve echoed. Most boys claimed to be dog people, he thought.

“Cats,” Peter nodded firmly. “I’d love to have a cat, but Daddy says we can’t. He says it would make me sick.” Steve nodded in sympathy.

“That stinks. But I’m glad your daddy wants you to be healthy.” Peter nodded again, apparently glad to have the company of a fellow (former) lung-related health risk sufferer to understand. Peter tilted his head.

“What do you like to draw?” Steve chuckled with pleasant surprise at the returned question. It was almost a foreign sensation, somehow.

“Lots of things,” he returned with a warm smile that didn’t feel quite as forced as the others he’d given lately. “Anything, really. Nice landscapes, people, animals. Pretty buildings,” he added, which drew a small giggle out of the little boy before him.

It felt like a sudden breeze of fresh air, somehow.

And just like that, he could relax a bit. Just like that, he felt a tad closer to… actually being fine. The chill, the invisible weight on his shoulders, the tiredness - they all remained, but for the time being, he was distracted from them enough.

It might be fine.

**********

It was, for the most part. In less than half an hour, they drew, they talked, they laughed a bit, surprising Steve each time. It was better than he’d thought his day could possibly go, when it started. There was however a brief moment during that recess, when he’d heard a feminine, anxious but somewhat authoritative voice shout, “Hey! What are you doing?” In the seconds afterward, he had a jolt of alarm, wondering if he, Captain America, was about to be arrested. He’d quickly turned in his seat to see what was clearly Peter’s teacher march up to the table, hand clenching her (ridiculously small) phone, looking afraid but trying not to show it. She looked over to Peter first, before looking down at him with an admirable amount of sternness. “Can I help you, sir?” she asked pointedly.

“I was just letting him drawn with me,” he replied in an embarrassingly quiet voice. “I saw he couldn’t do what the other kids were doing; I saw his inhaler. He looked lonely,” he finished pathetically. In spite of the amount of suspicion on her face not changing, she paused to consider her reply, and it was then that she blinked and looked closer at him.

“Cap— Captain Rogers?” She questioned slowly. He let out a breath, trying to slow his heart back down.

“Yes, I’m Steve Rogers. I was just here for some fresh air and just happened to see him, I swear.” She slowly nodded.

“I… I believe you,” she offered quietly. “Actually, I— I was in the train station you evacuated.” He let out the rest of the breath he’d been holding. No need to specify which train station, when.

She considered him for a moment.

“You’re not going to make Mr. Steve leave, are you Ms. Nolte?” Peter turned to face him. “You’ll be here again tomorrow, won’t you Mr. Steve?”

Jeez, who gave this kid a giant spoon to scoop out some of his insides with? He looked apologetically at Peter, then at his teacher.

“That’s entirely up to Ms. Nolte, Peter.” She looked down at him a moment, eyebrows pinched. 

“You sure you’re ok with it, Peter? You feel comfortable with this?” she asked him seriously. He beamed.

“Yes yes yes!” She sighed, shaking her head.

“Come to the front entrance, ask to be admitted to the office, and fill out a security form to be on the safe side. We’ll get an educational guest badge made for you, so park cops don’t tackle you for stranger danger. Be prepared to talk and be inspirational to the other kids too,at some point. And don’t make me regret it,” she warned, the effect softened slightly by her growing smile. He finally put on one of his own.

“Thank you.”

**********

After that, it was… better. Not perfect, not amazing, but better.

He’d bought a smaller sketchbook and a box of crayons, and started taking them along to the park. He decided to switch up his workout routine to include swimming at a local pool, despite the fact that at first approaching the water had sent a thrill of unease up his spine that he couldn’t explain (he usually went late at night, when most others had gone). He kept checking in with SHIELD intermittently. On the days he couldn’t go to the park because of work they had for him, he’d let Peter know on one of the days beforehand. He got to know Peter in bits and pieces, and let his sunny smiles and innocent questions and random, glorious dreams for the future wash over him. He shared bits and pieces of himself in return - the ones he thought wouldn’t scare a child badly.

He still had major trouble getting going some days. He still felt that ache and tension in his body, that invisible weight. He still had to forcibly hold himself back from snapping at people sometimes. He still didn’t have much of an appetite most days, and he still often felt that inexplicable coldness.

But he wasn’t crazy.

He did still have nightmares… not that anyone would ever know that. He was Captain America, after all.

He was still having to deal with all of that. But after somehow going three weeks of drawing pictures and talking with an asthmatic, hopelessly sweet little boy during those short recesses…

All of that was a little easier to cope with now. Easier enough.

**********

“Guess what today is? Guess what today is, guess what today is?!” Peter crowed joyously, bouncing in his seat and opening the crayon box but not drawing yet.

“Petey, slow down and take some deep breaths before you need to use your inhaler,” Steve admonished with a smile (they weren’t quite so heavy nowadays). “But what is today?”

Peter beamed. “Today’s the day my Daddy picks me up early to drive up and visit Nana,” he replied, slightly calmer, taking a slow breath at the end of his sentence. “He’ll sign me out at the office first and then come get me here before we go back in! You’ll get to meet my daddy,” he added, getting more excited again.

“I’ll be certainly glad to meet him,” Steve replied, not showing that he was a little nervous at the sudden prospect. Over the course of their conversations, he’d found out that Peter’s father was a single parent, but well-off enough to completely provide for Peter on his own. Some kind of scientific or engineering work. Busy schedule, but not seemingly so busy that the little boy gave any indication of being lonely or ignored at home. “If he’s your daddy, he must be a great guy,” he continued, ruffling Peter’s dark curls, prompting a mock-surly groan. They turned to their artistic ventures with easy familiarity.

Before it seemed like hardly any time had passed, Ms. Nolte was calling the other students back into the building, staying behind to make sure Peter got picked up and safely accounted for. Just moments after, he heard a call from up the shaded footpath. 

“Oh, Peter-Pan!” was called out in a sing-song voice. A familiar voice, but he couldn’t place it.

Where did he know it from?

“Daddy!” Peter cried, jumping down from the bench and dashing off (“Not so fast, Petey!” Steve had called after him, to no avail). He stood up from the table and was about to follow him (just to be safe), when he saw the figure belonging to the voice round the bend in the path, and become clearly visible from the picnic table as the little boy flew to him.

And Steve froze.  
The person who’d rounded the path lovingly calling for Peter-Pan was Tony.

************

Tony.

Tony flipping Stark was staring directly at him from the far end of the playground. His hand resting on top of Peter’s head.

Peter with his arms wrapped around Tony’s legs.

That… That was…

Actually, he really couldn’t be bothered to truly think about how unexpected that was. There was no point. It was reality. It was his reality, because of course it was.

He lowered his head and took several deep breaths, methodically shoving down the rising sense of loss - of grief - he felt. He knew the object of it. Didn’t mean he could explain it - he’d only known the kid a handful of weeks. He was nothing to Peter. Peter should be nothing to him.

He would never see Peter again after today… except maybe in passing, in stupidly small chances. He knew it with a certainty beyond anything else he knew lately. With a certainty beyond reasoning, beyond thinking, beyond words.

He simply knew - because that was his life, apparently.

Tony had been rounding the playground, approaching him with Peter in tow, expression totally unreadable. Not that Steve needed an expression to read. He lifted his head and forced on a closed-lipped smile that felt like he was trying to lift an anvil with just his facial muscles.

“I guess your son hadn’t told you about the old geezer he’d been drawing with in the park, huh?”

The genius remained surreally silent, face still so blank.

“He said he’d made a new friend. He didn’t mention that his new friend was a grown man, Cap.” Spoken in probably the least inflective tone known to man.

At least it wasn’t spoken with anger. He’d have to take small mercies.

“I’m… genuinely sorry for the miscommunication.” Pushing every bit of the easy-going, congenial “Captain America” sound he could muster into it. He wouldn’t show any bitterness in front of Peter. He wouldn’t do that.

“You know Mr. Steve, Daddy?” Peter piped up, his small hand enveloped in Tony’s larger one. It seemed to break the engineer out of the staring contest he’d apparently been trying to have with Steve, despite Steve looking anywhere but directly at Tony’s eyes after his greeting. He blinked rapidly, sucking in a recovery breath, before leaning down toward his son, adopting an easy smile.

“As a matter of fact, I do know Mr. Steve, kiddo. We haven’t spoken in a while, though. Tell you what, why don’t you play a few minutes while Mr. Steve and I catch up, ok buddy? We’ve still got time before we have to head out to see Nana.”

“Ok!” with the blind trust only a child can show. And off he went to the sand box as Tony partially rounded the table, so as to easily keep Peter in his line of sight.

“Mr. Steve” had thought that the knot in his stomach couldn’t get any tighter. He should have known better. He slowly sat down at the table facing Tony’s side, somehow feeling much closer to his chronological age than his biological one.

He folded his hands on top of his closed sketchbook. “His teacher didn’t have a problem with it, after she recognized me,” he started quietly. “I didn’t know.” 

Tony didn’t sit. “So… you’ll start drawing and talking with any random school kid in a park?” He still gave absolutely nothing away. Steve let out a low chuckle completely devoid of humor, keeping his eyes firmly on the tabletop.

“More like the ones with asthma, who can’t keep up with roughhousing like the other kids. The ones not as physically strong as the other kids, and have to play on their own because of it.”

There, at last, something fell into place behind Tony’s dark gaze, his expression opening somewhat. “Oh. Right.”

For a good minute or so the only sounds were of the merriment around them, the birds and the wind in the trees. It was almost unnatural to have so much silence from Tony - he seemed to be trying put his thoughts and words together. Steve simply waited. He had nothing to say that would matter.

Tony finally cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Captain America got so bored of the twenty-first century already, he took to garden variety park-roaming and people-watching?” he asked, trying for his signature flippancy but not quite managing it. Ironically, Steve had to internally thank him for helping him out with the comment.

“Something like that,” he replied. “Being on-call for S.H.I.E.L.D in my capacity isn’t exactly a nine-to-five.” He let out a sigh and stood. No sense in putting it off any more. He put the last crayons in the box, closed it, and set it on top of the closed smaller sketchbook, sliding the pair down the table. “He should have these. There’s plenty of pages still.” 

Tony reached down to touch the crayon box, lightly, almost like he was feeling it to make sense of its presence. “You’re… giving these to me.” It wasn’t spoken as a question, even though it actually was one.

“Of course. You’re his father,” Steve frowned. “You can give them to him.”

Tony was looking at him like he was speaking a language he only knew some of the vocabulary for. “You… you’ve been bringing them for him. Each time. Taking them with you for the next time.” He looked down, then back up at Steve intently. “You wouldn’t bring them back again?”

Steve couldn’t quite keep his jaw from dropping a bit. “What are you talking about?” Tony tilted his head slightly, as if they still weren’t completely understanding each other. He stared back, gobsmacked. “Again? You don’t really mean… You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.” Tony was still looking at him like he was trying to see through flesh and bone to read the thoughts underneath.

“What do you think I’m saying?” Still slower, quieter, more cautious than Steve had ever heard him speak. He shook his head.

“It sounds like you’re saying he can draw with me again, other days. But that can’t be right.” Tony peered at him closely, still looking confused.

“Can’t be right?” Steve stared. Slowly sat back down.

“Tony… Back during the lead-up to the Chitauri, I never heard a single person even hint that you had a kid. You never let on about it at all. I can’t imagine many people even know. You’ve gotta be playing it really close to the chest, for that to be the case - and understandable that you would. We learned to work together for that day; we’re still on the same team if there’s another crisis, but… you can’t mean that equates to… are really ok with me spending any time with your son?” Here Tony finally had an expression besides incomprehension. But what it was, Steve couldn’t say.

“I- I don’t know.” Steve tried to pretend the sting of hurt was balanced out by the sincere uncertainty of the admission, rather than a resounding negative. He nodded.

“If you’re not certain, then it has to stop. I won’t be what… It’s fine. I understand.” The engineer fixed him with a suddenly much more calculating look.

“What exactly do you understand?” Steve sighed.

“Well first, that it’s your right to say who your kid hangs out with, at least at this age. Second… Yeah, we can work together in a team on the job. I’d like to think we can respect each other in that. But I’ve got no problem understanding that that doesn’t necessarily mean you’d want me around your kid. It’s not exactly a secret that- well.”

Tony’s brain was finally approaching something close to its normal processing speed. He was surprised to feel a small jolt of… guilt run through him as he understood.

It’s not exactly a secret that you hate me, was what Steve didn’t have to finish saying. It’s not a secret that you said I was of no use, and not remotely special, and a laboratory experiment. It’s not a secret that you think I’m a backwards, outdated idiot.

Going against his normal method of dealing with anything emotional that wasn’t related to Peter, Tony held onto those thoughts. Weighed them, inspected them, stood back and considered them. Yeah, he’d thought all that at the time, he admitted to himself with a small twinge of shame, but now…

Now, they still hadn’t interacted with each other since then. He didn’t know Steve any better now than he did then, besides the fact that he was in fact a good leader and strategist on the field. 

But Peter did know him. He’d probably spent multiple times the amount of time with Steve he himself had by now. And for a six-year-old, Tony considered him a pretty good judge of character.

“Peter’s been happier these last few weeks than he’s been in a long time,” he said quietly. The temporally-displaced soldier turned to look back up at him in surprise. “I didn’t know what caused the change. I wanted to, but more I was just happy that he was.” 

Steve just stared. Tony sighed.

“Look, Cap- Rog- Steve, when we parted ways after the Chitauri, you apologized for jumping to conclusions about me; you said that you’d been wrong. I do remember that, and despite probable appearances to the contrary… it meant a lot to me. And I never got around to doing my own admission to douchery. I mean, I think the influence of the scepter may have exacerbated things somewhat, but - I never got around to apologizing to you, is what I’m saying. But that… that’s more on me. I’m not gonna go into details, but… my issue with you was really almost all my own baggage; I realized that after. All that being said…” He took a deep breath. “Petey’s a good kid. And he’s picky about who he spends time with. Despite not exactly being a social butterfly, which he unfortunately got from me, he’s good at figuring out who drains him to be around, and, well, who doesn’t. He’s never drained or grumpy after school now - since he’s been meeting you in this park. If you’re good enough for him… that might be good enough for me.”

He tried not to notice how the expression on Steve’s face was… well, it was so relieved, and, shit, grateful, that it was actually kind of sad. And kind of alarming.

“Just answer me this, though. What is my son to you?” The soldier was quick to shake his head.

“Nothing you’ve got to worry about. Just a friend.” Tony just kept looking at him - waiting. 

Steve sighed. Don’t say anything, his mind hissed. You’ll just show him how pathetic you really are. But what was the point, really?

“I guess… well, as I said, I could empathize with him, on the health stuff, and how it affects socializing. And he just seemed like he needed a friend, and then he kept asking if I would come back… it was nice to have someone look forward to spending time with me. For me to have something to look forward to. And he’s such a smart kid, and compassionate, he’d tell me stuff about how things are now in a way no book or the internet could. And he’d ask me questions, but not the kind of questions people usually ask me. And… just… it’s like, he reminded me of what we fight for, you know? He’s part of the good that the future can be. It was great to see. I wanted to be a part of that.”

And Tony… Tony couldn’t quite help but gape.

It actually had set off tiny tremors of shock, of realization throughout him. Because he knew exactly what Steve was talking about. He was describing exactly what Tony got from raising Peter (besides the frankly baffling unconditional love):

Purpose.

Steve had gravitated toward Peter, and stuck with him, because he’d been feeling like he had no purpose. The implications of that were now much more alarming.

“Steve… it’s been almost six months since you got thawed. I know you did your new-century acclimation road trip, but… what did you get from it? Like, what friends have you made since you’ve been awake - I mean, besides us weirdos and head cases? What connections have you made?”

The soldier’s slightly defensive silence told him all he needed to know. Shit.

Steve, for his part, felt something inside him burning in shame, and maybe a bit genuinely angry. But with nothing concrete to get angry at - just the overall theme of his life.

You don’t get to have family.

Ma died, and he almost did quite a few times. He’d hit his adulthood understanding that many people thought that he didn’t deserve to marry or have kids - because that would pass on his defects. That his life wasn’t worth anything.

Then Bucky had gone off to war. Eventually, miraculously he was eventually able to follow… no that it made him any less alone, in the grand scheme of things. He’d gotten the serum, and finally been able to breath painlessly, and finally not have people look at him in pity or disgust. But you’re the only one, so we have a special job for you… you don’t get to form the bonds of brotherhood that the real soldiers get to have, one of their few compensations for the harshness of their lives. You’re a mouthpiece. A colorful song and dance.

Then finally, finally he’d gotten Bucky back, and was able to go where he belonged, and form those bonds with the Commandos he’d wished for… and then that fell apart too. Bucky died (because Steve failed to save him), and he was that much closer to being alone again. And just when he’d begun to hope in what he could be and have together with Peggy… that was gone too. 

Bucky was dead. All the Commandos were dead - he looked them up. Peggy was still alive, but in her silver years, and she’d had her own full life, and he couldn’t intrude on that. And he’d woken up in this time when he was both an icon and a relic - icons aren’t real living people, they’re just ideas, and relics don’t have the best of luck reaching out and making friends.

You don’t get to have family.

He just smiled mirthlessly. “If Captain America can’t manage to make a few new friends in this century, that’s the issue of the guy wearing the mask. I don’t need a minder.” Tony just shook his head.

“I know you don’t Steve. Believe me, I know. But… I get it, in a way. I’d be a lot worse off if I didn’t have Peter. He gives me a reason to do a lot of things I wouldn’t have cared about before. Hell, it’s probably not healthy, but there are some days when he’s my reason to simply out of bed in the morning. More than anything, he gives me hope.” 

He paused, and took a breath, before finally sitting down at the table with Steve.

“I wouldn’t have a problem with him giving you hope too.”

Slowly, finally since they first saw each other in this park, Steve was able to smile honestly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our unconventional trio takes a trip, and Steve learns about Peter's beginning.

The mechanic and the soldier sat quietly at the table for a few more minutes, each processing their new understanding, and the tentative alliance between them. They both watched Peter play in the sand, trying to scoop up water from a nearby puddle to dampen the sand and make it more stable. Finally, Tony shook his head with a small smile, before looking at his watch and standing up.

“Guess what time it is, Petey-pie?” The small dark head snapped up comically fast.

“Time to see Nana!” Tony smirked a bit.

“Time for someone to get cleaned up - and then time to see Nana.”

Steve stood up as well, gathering the drawing materials while Peter stood up from the sand box and began clumsily brushing himself down. He paused, wondering whether to push his luck. “So… what time would be - I mean, when would you be ok with me coming here next? Monday?” Tony gave him a considering look.

“It’s a public area, Steve, I can’t tell you not to come here. But I understand what you mean.” He thought, and nodded. “Yeah, Monday’s fine, and we’ll go from there. Or…” He paused, apparently deep in thought, looking from Steve to Peter, and then back again.

“Actually… you worked with Howard.” 

“Yeah,” Steve frowned, hoping it wouldn't widen the rift between them again. But Tony didn’t look upset.

“And you worked with Peggy Carter.” Steve couldn’t quite stop his breath from catching.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “Yeah, I did. She was amazing.” Tony nodded, before taking a deep breath, seeming to gather his himself for something.

“Well… I bet you can’t guess who Nana is.” 

Steve stared. “What? No - really?”

“Really. Although when I was a kid she was Aunt Peggy. My godmother - raised me for a while more than Howard did, to be honest. I hung out with her niece Sharon a fair few times. She’d be Peter’s godmother too, but, well…” He trailed off a moment. “She can’t really take care of anyone anymore, so the title wouldn’t carry weight if something permanent happened to me.”

Steve nodded, absorbing this sudden additional rush of information. Tony shifted on his feet, hands in his pockets.

“So, we’re going up to visit her this evening; it’s a two-hour drive Northeast. You could… I mean, if you wanted…” Steve stared - mouth falling slightly open, to be honest.

“Seriously?” His voice was quiet. Tony fixed him a peculiar look.

“It’s my godmother and my son’s honorary grandmother I’m offering to bring you along to see, Cap. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” Here he suddenly seemed to lose a bit of confidence. “I mean, if you’ve got other things to do, it’s no problem - obviously-” Steve cut him off.

“Tony,” he deadpanned, “the highlights of my week have been drawing animals and imaginative architecture with a six-year-old I met in a park. No, I don’t have other things I need to do.”

**********

After collecting a still somewhat sandy kindergartner, and cleaning off his hands with honest-to-God hand wipes Tony Stark actually had on his person, and a briefly alarming burst of almost manic excitement from the boy at the prospect of “Mr. Steve” coming along to see Nana, the were finally on the road. It probably wasn’t even fifteen minutes before Tony glanced in the rear-view mirror, smiling softly. “Still puts him out, almost every time.” Steve looked over his shoulder, and sure enough the adorable little boy was out like a light, his folded-over jacket cushioning his head against the door. He couldn’t help but share Tony’s obvious appreciation for the sight, even if he was slightly confused.

“What does?” His companion sent him a slightly amused look.

“Car rides,” he replied. “The vibrations from the engine are soothing.”

Ah. Car rides hadn’t been all that soothing when he been in them when he was younger. He guessed that’s what advances in motor vehicle technology would do.

They continued in silence for a while, the air steadily become slightly more tense as Steve pondered, and Tony picked up on it.

Finally, Tony sighed. “I can hear those vintage gears grinding in your head from over here, Cap. Whatever you’ve got to say, just say it.” Steve had the grace to look somewhat contrite.

“It’s nothing; it’s not my business. I just…” Tony’s mouth thinned.

“You’re just wondering how a guy like me ends up a single dad. What kind of torrid tale there must be behind it.” Steve shook his head.

“You don’t have to tell me.” But Tony just huffed.

“I know I don’t. But we’ve still got a good chunk of road to burn, and I’m not ashamed.”

The blond settled more comfortably in his seat at that, with with a somewhat impressed expression, and waited patiently. Oddly, that somehow made Tony just a tad uncertain, for some reason. He cleared his throat.

“There’s not really much of a story behind it. It wasn’t a soap opera, and it wasn’t the white picket fence American Dream. I used to sleep around a lot. Always tried to remember safety, though. Pepper and I had to deal with… well, my fair share of paternity claims. Most were crap. One was real. His mother wasn’t a reporter, or a social climber or anything. She was just a grad student in genetics, and we met at a conference her university was hosting. I can say honestly that it was refreshingly free of bullshit and deceit; we just talked and talked and talked, and kind of got high off of trading ideas and trying to challenge each other. We let that energy carry over into the physical stuff.

“Fast forward a few months, and I… I get captured by the Ten Rings. Fast forward another three months, I’ve had heart surgery, made the arc reactor, finished the Iron Man prototype suit and escaped, been picked up by Rhodey, brought home. Shut down the weapons manufacturing. Fast forward another two months, the Mark 2 is up and running, and… and I’ve just had to deal with Stane. Lost him.

“Then she comes to find me, less than a month away from labor. She’s… well, she’s scared, and I wouldn’t blame her. She knew the kind of life I led and didn’t want a kid to be mixed up in that. She’d started a committed relationship, and she originally thought they’d just raise him together. But on the other hand, she still felt I should know, not to mention the both of them were already up to their asses in student debt, even with scholarships and grants. They both had jobs lined up for after graduation that would leave exactly zero time to raise a baby. I’ve had to deal with so many changes just recently, and I’m so far into freaking out, I get into that weird stage where you shoot the moon and go back to calm. We talk options; Pepper mediates a bit.

“We decide to wait until he’s born to make any decisions. I straighten myself out enough to make sure I’m there. The labor and delivery are pretty normal. We take turns holding him, and talk some more. We eventually admit that either way, I’d have to be contributing a lot for him to be taken care of, but you can be damn sure neither of us were going to let him go into the system, so it would just be simpler if he went with me. And when we got to the bottom of it, she admitted that as much as she cared about him, she just wasn’t ready to be a mom. Granted, I was as far from being ready to be a dad as possible. But, I guess you could say I was much better equipped to become ready in a really compressed frame of time. And… between you and me, I think I had just a tiny bit harder of a time passing him back than she did. I don’t judge her for that.

“Eventually we decide that it would be better overall for him if it was a relatively clean break; we didn’t want to confuse him and make him worry with the whole ‘other parent at such-and-such times’ thing. None of that, ‘where’s mommy/where’s daddy’ mess. So she keeps her distance. I send her updates and pictures, and she writes him letters periodically and sends gifts for his birthday, but they don’t meet. She’s never gone back on that or changed her mind and tried to fight for custody back, and that’s something I’m really damn grateful for. Peter’s never really gotten upset about it, as far as I’ve seen; so far hasn’t shown signs of any parental abandonment-fueled identity crises, which to me is a bona fide miracle. And honestly… by now, I don’t know how I could possibly let him go, even halfway. So I’m really glad she’s never pushed it to that.”

Steve took several moments to process that huge mound of information, before letting out a large breath. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s… that’s a lot. And yet like you said, surprisingly straightforward. What’s her name?”

“Mary.”

They let a surprisingly comfortable silence sit between them after that, Tony focused on the road and Steve looking out the window, clearly deep in thought. Then he sat up straighter, cocking his head to Tony.

“Wait - used to?”

“What?”

“You said that you used to sleep around a lot.” Tony’s eyes briefly cut sideways to Steve suspiciously.

“That’s the detail you hone in on? Jeez. But yeah, used to. What’s your point?” Steve smirked.

“So I guess the ‘playboy’ part of ‘genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’ was in past-tense. Or a red-herring to protect Peter - or both.” Tony huffed.

“Yeah, it was both, you big bloodhound.”

“Bloodhound?” Steve asked, mildly affronted.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re sniffing your way through my private life!” But there was no anger in the tone. “Besides, their sad and droopy faces visually represent how old you are on the inside.”

“That’s classy.”

“I try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Steve's depression doesn't really get any attention in this chapter, but then again it's much shorter, so there's that. I'm also wondering whether I'm making Tony just a bit too level-headed, especially in the past, so I'd appreciate hearing how close I am on his characterization.
> 
> My big thing with this chapter though is that I wanted Peter's background story to be different. Most stories I read where Tony is Peter's bio-Dad with Mary Parker (previously Fitzpatrick? I think?) involve major secret-keeping, infidelity, straight-up callousness, or some combination. I wanted something different; like there's a classification of no-fault divorce, I wanted to explore a sort-of "no-fault" unplanned kid out of wedlock. So there's that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long-delayed reunion. Plus, getting back into Steve's emotional and mental health issues. Very much un-betaed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... um, yeah. You know how it goes. My bad. This one's short, but this was the chapter that was really tripping me up, so hopefully I'll have more out faster after this.

It wasn’t until they neared Peggy’s home that Steve began to show subtle signs of nervousness. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

Tony pulled into the driveway and brought the car to a stop, applying the brake and shutting off the ignition. “What are you on about, Cap? It’s Peggy, she’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“But she’s lived her own life this whole time. Me suddenly appearing again in her home could make her uncomfortable.” Tony shook his head.

“Oh, come on, Steve. It’s not like you’re trying to steal her away from… well, the memory of her late husband. Even if you were that kind of guy, she’d kick your ass long before getting ‘uncomfortable.’ Yes, even at her age.”

“I know.”

“So there’s no issue!” He concluded, undoing his seatbelt. “Now let’s get in there before she sends out a search party for us.” Then he was out the door, rounding the car to open Peter’s door and gently shake the boy awake. After that, despite Steve’s unease, they were walking up to Peggy’s house and going through the door.

Peter couldn’t help but dash ahead into the living room, while the two men followed more slowly. “Nana Peggy!” he cried, before rushing into the open arms of a distinguished silver-haired woman, sitting in an armchair.

“Oh, my ducky! You get bigger every time I see you!” 

“Nuh-uh. I’m still in the bottom third of my class in height.” She laughed, brushing the curls off his forehead fondly. 

“I stand corrected. So where’s that rascal of a father of yours hiding?”

“Right here,” Tony replied from the doorway. “And he’s brought you a present.” He lightly pushed the soldier out from behind him into plain view. The renowned Peggy Carter stared, gobsmacked.

“…Steve?” she whispered.

“Hey, Peggy.” He gave a small smile that was a strange mixture of sadness, joy, and embarrassment.

“What the bloody hell took you so long, you great ponce?” She tried to rise shakily from her chair, but he quickly strode forward to kneel at her level instead, motioning her back down.  
No one made mention of how her voice grew thick with emotion. Steve seemed to be in a similar state.

“Well, you know how it goes,” he replied, blinking rapidly, covering one of her wrinkled hands with his. “Your… your ride breaks down… you- you finally get picked up, and next thing you know, people need you to help clean up the mess you just tried to take care of, ‘cause some new big shot’s trying to make trouble. And surprise, nearly three-quarters of a century have passed you by in a snap. So… so then you gotta go figure out what’s changed, besides gas being $3.60 a gallon.”

It suddenly hit Tony that he might have been setting Steve up to not especially respect him when the first met, more that he realized. He tried for Peter’s sake, but no one could describe him as possessing particularly good interpersonal skills. Oh, he knew how to work the floor at a fancy get-together, sure. Playing up his image and schmoozing his way toward his goals, and all that. But sincerity outside of his immediate circle? Not so much. ’Doing time as a Cap-sicle.’ He never really considered how making light of something so intense - dare he say, traumatic - and very recent as Steve’s plunge into the ice and subsequent awakening would come across, until he heard Steve himself trying to make light of it for self-preservation’s sake.

“Naturally,” Peggy let out a short, bittersweet laugh before sobering again, gazing at him intently. “I could have helped you figure those things out, though. It’s been a while.”

He looked down at the floor. “I didn’t want to intrude.” She shook her head.

“Oh, Steve… you ridiculous man.” And she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him. He returned the embrace, gently, carefully — almost as if he was afraid that putting an ounce of strength into the hug would break her aged and brittle bones.

He probably was.

Eventually Steve stood back to let Tony greet Peggy properly, including a kiss on her cheek. The two men took the seats she gestured to, while she asked Peter to fetch the tin of biscuits from the kitchen, which of course he did happily. 

What followed was probably the most surreal social visit in the lives of all three of them. Steve and Peggy went back and forth reminiscing about the Army, the Howling Commandos, and the overall state of things back in the forties, and she shared with both of them stories of the other when they were a nerdy kid, in Tony’s case, and an awkwardly-chivalrous and scrawny young adult, in Steve’s case… to both men’s chagrin. Tony spoke proudly of how Peter was doing in school, while the little boy made the rounds of sitting on each of their laps and playing with the small selection of toys Peggy kept for him.

Finally, the sun had long since set, Peter was nodding off again but stubbornly fighting it, and the two men could tell that Peggy was getting fatigued too, and they all knew it was time to part ways for the night. While Tony was packing up Peter and gathering their coats, Peggy pushed herself up from her chair, insistently waving off Steve’s offer of assistance. He could help but notice how her arms and legs shook.

Once she was upright, she opened her arms to him and he gratefully accepted them, lightly burying his face in the fabric on her shoulder. She rubbed a hand up and down his back for a moment, before speaking with a quiet playfulness.

“Don’t be a stranger Rogers… after all, you still owe me a dance.”

*****************

When Tony and Peter had said their goodbyes and exited the house, they met an unpleasant surprise.

Steve was leaning forward against the brick wall of the house side, arms braced straight and head bowed forward. His breathing was heavy but uneven, and his whole frame trembled.

Oooooh shit. 

“Mr. Steve?” Peter asked quietly, uncertain. Worried. Tony thought fast.

“Can you go back inside and make sure you didn’t leave anything behind, kiddo? Ask Nana send you back out in about ten minutes?”

Peter gave him a questioning look, not being able to find sense in two parts of the request together, getting that incredibly vague sense that something else was happening, but he nodded anyway.

“Ok.” And he quickly re-entered the house. When the door latched shut, Tony cautiously approached the other man.

“Steve?” he prompted.

“God, it’s gone, they’re all gone, or - about to be… It’ll be like none of it was real… I’m gonna be the last one — the serum — how long am I gonna be alive? What if it just keeps pulling me along forever? Peggy, you, Peter, the team — You might all— How many times am I gonna have to be the last one? God, I don’t want to be the last—“

“Steve!” Tony tried to make his voice firm without being too loud and startling the soldier - sadly for naught, as the trembling man before him flinched anyway, before straightening, going rigid, seemingly trying to lock all of his emotions deep down inside his body.

“Christ, I don’t know what this… I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Steve, come on, don’t — don’t apologize for that. I mean yeah, it’s disconcerting to see from you but… you’re human. I think some of us don’t remember that as much as we should. And this, all this that you’ve gone through, it’s intense. It would be a lot for anyone to handle. In fact… has SHIELD had you talk to someone since you’ve been back? A doctor?”

Steve spun to face him, standing somehow even taller, hands curled into fists at his sides, as if he’d half-switched to attention. He fixed his stare on Tony.

“I’m not crazy,” he bit out. 

The mechanic stared, taken aback. The soldier sounded probably the most defensive that Tony had ever heard him. Which, given the amount of time they’d actually spend together, didn’t account for much, but still.

“I didn’t say you were, Steve. But stuff like what you’ve experienced… it leaves its mark on people, and not always physically, but mentally and emotionally. Even before doing a seventy-year time jump, you were in a damn war - a literal World War.” Steve just scowled.

“I’m not shell-shocked, either.” 

Tony had a bit of a lightbulb moment at that. Yeah, treatment of soldiers showing any signs of trauma after seeing combat? Back then, he could guess that it would be useless at best and damaging at worst. Of course any discerning soldier from Steve’s time would hide it, and deny any accusations if possible. Mental health wouldn't be one of the spheres of change to clearly present itself on the surface of Steve’s acclimation tour. He’s still thinking that being hauled off to a nightmare prison masquerading as a mental health facility is the automatic consequence of showing mental and emotional weakness.

“Ah. Well, a) I really do think you should let a doctor determine that, and b) we have a better phrase for that now - it’s broader, covers more situations that can cause it. It’s called post-traumatic stress disorder. And Steve, I have it too.”

That made the soldier pause.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “When I took that nuke through the wormhole… was literally in outer space, and saw all those damn aliens, their ship; saw and heard my suit shut down around me — I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk to anyone, thought I was dying right then and there, didn’t know what would happen to Peter… well, it all messed me up.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“I know. But just… When I told you that there were days Peter was the only reason I got out of bed… those days were pretty much mostly in the six months since we’d parted ways. It was mostly because of that battle. I was having nightmares, and all the sudden I was feeling really anxious, like to the point of being paranoid. I kept Peter inside for weeks. Flashbacks, irritability — well, more than normal for me — I had the works. And Pepper and Rhodey convinced me to at least let the docs try… And Steve, they helped. I’m not bullshitting you here. You know how much I hate talking about or showing any kind of vulnerability that I have; I hate not being in control. So when I tell you that I think you might have the same thing, or something really close to it, and that I would actually recommend getting some help… You know I’m not bullshitting you. I — I know we got off to a bad start, but I do know you’re a good guy, and I wanna help you, Cap. I’ve been there, some days I’m still there, and it sucks big time. But I’ve been getting better… I’d like to see you get better too. I think Peter would want to see you get better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a lot of notes for this chapter. First of which being that with this fic I really wanted to get into how Steve would reflect the attitudes of his time in regards to mental illness, since that sort of cultural change wouldn't be so obvious, in my mind. His repeated and defensive claims of note being "crazy" are from his own misinformed fears, not my own views.
> 
> Second, I feel compelled to say that I take back what I said earlier about whether Tony's in-character. Don't bite my head off now, but Iron-Dad stories especially reflect the differences between MCU canon and fannon versions of Tony, to me. I love a lot of fannon Tony. But I realized I don't actually really like Tony's MCU characterization (don't bother getting into it with me), so this Tony is like 80% overhaul. It be like that.
> 
> Third and lastly, while my hiatus wasn't nearly as long as some (and I am NOT judging anyone on that front, seriously), I want to point out that mine came with a sort of shift in my personal media focus. Like always, I got hardcore into Marvel really late, and consumed a lot of it, but I got in at the wrong time in the post CW shit-fest, and I eventually got fed-up with how toxic the fandom got, especially here on AO3, and I just got exhausted with the whole thing, and went back to my comforting stand-by, Star Trek. Long story short, I do still very much intend to continue and finish with this fic. It just may or may not reflect the changes in my feelings about Marvel and its characters, is all. Take from that info what you will, and if you're still with me from here on out, I'm super grateful :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wants to share an upcoming holiday with Steve, and Tony's conception of Steve as an old-fashioned fuddy-duddy gets challenged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all get a double chapter for the holiday in honor of Steve's B-day (god knows there's not much else for America to be proud of right now), because I've got no life and my creative juices are finally flowing again. Don't get used to it.

The following week, Peter hit Steve with a curve ball at recess. 

“Mr. Steve, it’s almost Halloween. Would you go trick-or-treating with me?”

Steve blinked. 

Trick-or-treating? Damn. He hadn’t done that since… actually, he’d never really done it, had he? He’d seen younger kids going around in their humble homemade costumes, but it hadn’t really gained traction in the states until he was already a teenager. The Depression had already hit by then, and resources were already thin on the ground, so the “asking for candy” part of the tradition had gone by the wayside. Obviously, that wasn’t an issue on the national level now. He wondered what it would be like after all these years.

“Well, uh, that certainly sounds like it’d be fun, Pete. But you know it’s up to your dad.”

“I know. But I want to ask you first, ‘cause if you say no then I don’t have to ask Daddy if it’s ok.” He said it like it was the most rational thing in the world. Which, when Steve considered, it pretty much was.

“I see your point. Speaking of your dad, isn’t he taking you?” Kids Peter’s age surely weren’t allowed to go out unsupervised. The boy nodded.

“He is. But Aunt Pepper says he needs somebody with him, to keep him out of trouble.” That made Steve frown.

“Trouble?”

“Yeah.” He suddenly got quieter. “We went last year, and I went as Trini, you know, the yellow Power Ranger? ‘Cause she’s really smart, and nice, and yellow’s my favorite color.” Steve didn’t know, but he nodded for Peter to continue. “Some of the other kids made fun of me - for a couple reasons, I didn't understand really - and Daddy shouted at them. And then their parents shouted back, and they were pretty mean to each other, and it was so loud, and it got a little scary.”

Steve digested that, looking down at the table. “Oh. I see.” He could only imagine what a sarcastic, defensive guy like Tony Stark would would turn into if he saw his kid being bullied, even for just a few moments. He figured it might be easy for him to cross some lines that none of the adults in Peter’s life would want him to witness again.  
He let out a heavy breath.

“Alright. I mean - I’d sure like to go with you. The two of you. But that means you have to ask him if it’s ok. He can call me, or I can call him, whichever’s better. I’m flexible.” Peter beamed, immediately drawn out of his gloomy memory.

“Cool! I’ll tell him when he picks me up today!”

And the rest of recess was spent drawing their potential alter-egos for trick-or-treating, despite Steve’s gentle cautioning that Tony might axe Steve’s addition. Despite guessing that Peter had already picked up on Steve’s more recognizable identity from Peggy’s stories, and possibly Tony’s disclosure, Steve deliberately didn’t mention already having a “costume” available. He couldn’t explain it, but something in him wanted there to be distance between “Captain America” and the Steve that Peter knew.

*************

He’d just gotten back from his check-in with SHIELD that night when his home phone rang. As soon as he’d given his greeting, he heard Tony’s voice.

“So. Trick-or-treating, huh?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Nothing for it.

“Hey, Tony. Yeah, Peter asked, and I’d like to join in. It sounds like fun. If that’s alright with you.” He heard a tense inhale through the line.

“Look, Steve, it’s not you.” He had to exert every ounce of discipline to not scoff. He’d heard those words plenty of times before the serum, and he wasn’t a betting man, but he’d lay down good money on the chances that they weren’t the truth most if not every time. Everyone had the right to say no, whether for a job or a date or enlistment or anything in between, but when each ‘no’ is accompanied by one of the same two facial expressions, it gets tiring. He might not have his old disadvantages anymore, but it stung just the same.

“I unde-“ But Tony had already started speaking again.

“It’s just that… well, I already told you. About after the battle.” That gave Steve pause. “And about how I kept Peter inside for quite a while. And we’re doing better now, obviously, since I let him start school on schedule, but… I don’t know. Going out with him at night, out in the open, with so many other people around, I guess I’m just worried that I’ll be — well, embarrassing honesty time, kind of jumpy. Like, not-fun levels of tense. And Peter may or may not have told you about what happened last year, on top of it. I think you can understand why I don’t want anyone to see that. Well, anyone who hasn’t already.”

Steve let out a surprised breath. There was a kind of irony in it.

“I do understand.”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered. He was quiet a moment. “Then again, I’ve already seen you experience something you didn’t want anyone to see, so I guess taking the risk is only fair.” Steve couldn’t help the small smile that lifted the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t think it quite works that way.” He heard Tony give a a short huff of humor.

“It probably doesn’t, really. But I’ve never exactly done things the conventional way, if you haven’t noticed.” Steve smirked, even though Tony didn’t see it.

“No, not at all. Unconventional? You? I’d never have guessed.”

“Yeah, yeah. But regardless… I kind of get the idea that Petey asking you about it was, uh, maybe his way of telling me that maybe we could be doing a little better. That he wants to be a little less cautious and a little more social. Or maybe that he just wants to have zany fun for a night. It’s hard to tell sometimes. I should probably get him to clarify…” Steve smiled a bit more at the engineer’s rambling.

“But anyway, he clearly wants you to be there. And him wanting someone besides Pepper, Rhodey, or Happy around is pretty irregular, so I’m not inclined to let him down if I don’t have to. And having another member of the team there… it might incidentally make me a bit less neurotic. So, I don’t know, it might not be one of the worst ideas out there.”

Steve let out a breath.

“So, you’re ok with it?”

“I’m inclined to be ok with it, against my personal shit. We’d have to go over a bit more, details and the like.” Steve nodded.

“Of course. It’s coming up pretty fast, though.”

“I am aware. If you’ve got time tomorrow afternoon, why don’t you swing by the tower; I’ve got some sciencing I’m doing with Bruce before I pick Peter up. He’d probably wanna say hi. Catching up, planning the plan, science. Efficiency, and all that.” He gave a short chuckle.

“Barring sudden emergency, I’ll be there.”

***************

When Steve arrived at Stark’s tower, a bodiless AI who identified himself as JARVIS (and wasn’t that another minor shock of the new age) directed him into the elevator and up to one of the top floors. He spotted the two men through a glass door, and knocked. Tony waved at him to come in, and must have given JARVIS the word the admit him, since he heard a locking mechanism sound before he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Tony greeted him in his usual nonchalant way, and he and Bruce exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, in the open yet awkward way only those biological oddities who have fought invading aliens together can.

“So, what have you been doing the last few months?” Bruce asked. Steve shrugged.

“Some SHIELD work here and there. Getting used to the new century. You?”

“Research. Thermo-electrical, medical, little of this, little of that. Short-term contractor with the city. Kind of my way of, uh, paying for damages.” Tony had an expression that suggested it was a conversation they’d had before.

“You know you don’t actually have to do that, right?” Bruce just shrugged.

“Maybe I want to.” And that was that. Tony and Bruce went back to their “sciencing,” while Tony and Steve intermittently discussed Trick-or-Treat night. Eventually conversation lulled for a moment, before Bruce spoke again. 

“Hey Tony, is it alright if I use that particle scanner for a little while?” he asked.

“Anything for you, sugar,” Tony replied, winking at Bruce - who just rolled his eyes, the party-pooper. He was then distracted by a soft “hm” noise from behind him. Turning around, he linked it to Steve, idly taking in the various medical and engineering holograms on the wall.

“What’s that, Cap?” Tony prompted. Steve turned with an small, casual grin.

“Nothing. I just hadn’t realized you two were together. Congratulations.”

Tony couldn’t quite stop his jaw from falling a bit, while Bruce merely blinked a few times, looking pleasantly surprised. “Ah, we’re not together, Steve. Tony’s just being his joker self,” the scientist offered. Steve clearly took that in unexpected stride too.

“Oh. Sorry.” But Tony wasn’t about to let it go that easily.

“What’s this? The Golden Generation’s Golden Boy perfectly fine with the idea of two guys together? Physically, Romantically? Doc, did that just happen, or am I passed out in a fever dream from a work marathon?” he asked, turning to Bruce. Steve just shook his head.

“I may be old, Tony, but I’m not ignorant. I went out and explored the country that first month, remember? I saw some social changes that happened while I was under, not just surface-level stuff. Beside, I grew up in one of the biggest and most densely-populated cities in the world. In the borough with probably the biggest presence of… of gay men in that city. And that was before I joined the military. Even back then, you’d have to be willfully blind and deaf to think you’d never crossed paths with someone willing to risk it.”

The two brainiacs stared in silence for a few moments. Unsurprisingly, Bruce recovered first.

“‘Willing to risk it.’ That’s also probably the most sympathetic phrasing on the topic I’ve heard from… well, from someone of your generation.” Steve frowned, only just now starting to look slightly tense.

“…Well, after you’ve spent long enough in certain environments, under certain kinds of pressure… you learn to not begrudge anyone what little comfort they can get, as long as it’s not hurting anyone. You just don’t mention it. It doesn’t change someone’s humanity.”

After a moment, Tony shook his head with a light chuckle. “How about that? Our old boy Cap is an Ally in more than one sense.” Bruce just shook his head with a smile, and returned to his work before speaking again.

“So, I guess there was more of a presence of homosexuality in the army than history books would have us believe, huh?” Tony jumped in, with a sudden gleeful expression.

“Yeah, Steve, cough up the juicy stories! Did a bunch of your army bros hit on you?” Steve just looked amused.

“Actually, it was just as much if not more present in our female enlisted.”

Another moment of silence.

“What now?” Here Steve actually chuckled a bit to himself, looking reminded of fond times.

“Yeah, at one point I heard on the grapevine about General Eisenhower’s reaction when he found out about, ah, sapphic ladies in the WAC, from clerks to drivers to nurses, and how he wanted every one of them identified and booted. Then when his aid told him that they made up probably a vast majority of those support departments, he had to let it slide.” *

Tony raised his eyebrows. “I’ll be damned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Steve tells about wlw in the military is an actual story, and Eisenhower did have a period when he was trying to force LGBT people out of all government work positions (see: Lavender Scare). There is an article claiming to disprove that specific story Steve tells, but it's only available on some site that requires paid membership, so I reserve judgement. Since MCU is a revisionist history world in which the military is fully integrated as we see in TFA (Tuskegee Airmen, anyone?), I'm choosing for that little story to be completely true in this AU.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trick-or-Treat Night is planned and carried out, and Steve is confronted with more of his past and its clashes with the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone help me. I can't stop.
> 
> Short notes in case it comes up / anyone wonders: I'm nixing the entirety of the Mandarin / Extremis stuff from IM3.  
> TWS stuff will be involved eventually, but with some changes.

Tony and Steve rode the elevator down towards the ground floor as the time for the inventor to pick up his progeny drew near. Steve was pensive for a few moments.

“Something I was wondering.”

“Uh-Oh. Should I be worried?”

“Hilarious. You should do comedy skits. No, it was about part of what we talked about on the way to Peggy’s. About you wanting Peter to be low-profile, not really in the public eye.”

Tony side-eyed him. “What about it?”

“I’m just wondering how that works with regular kid stuff - school, Halloween, all that. I mean, you pick him up yourself a lot of the time, from what he says.” The elevator touched down and the two men exited, but they slowed to a pause between there and the main entrance.

“Ah. Well, for the time being that’s pretty simple. I got the school staff to sign NDAs, I usually stay in the car in the lineup with the other supposed grown-ups, and most of the kids don’t pay that close attention, at that age.”

“Makes sense,” Steve nodded. “And… Halloween? How did that work out, last year?” Tony let out a short sigh.

“So he did tell you. Yeah, getting into a verbal throw-down with the creators of mini-douchebags is really not helped by being dressed as the red Power Ranger - complete with a dorky-looking helmet that at least did conceal my face.”

Steve couldn’t help but snort, despite the seriousness of the recounted confrontation. “No, I can’t imagine it was.” He sobered after a moment. “So Peter wasn’t exaggerating when he said you should, um, have someone there with you so it doesn’t happen again.”

Tony frowned. “You know, normally I’d be annoyed at the idea of Pepper shit-talking me to my kid…” He sighed again. “But, I know that’s not what she was doing. I do know, on a logical level, that she just wants what’s best for him. And if that means me having a buffer… well, that says more about me that it does about her.” His expression had been growing stormy with his last words, and his tone became bitter.

“So, yeah. You thought you were joining in on a fun night of G-rated revelry, and maybe protecting errant trash cans and stray city fauna from my paranoia. Now you know you’re also there to be the responsible one who makes sure I don’t freak out my kid and make an ass of myself by starting fights. Bet you’re really glad to have seen me in the park that day, huh?”

Steve stared at the scowling man beside him, but suddenly, he wasn’t actually seeing him.

He was seeing a sharp-dressed, clean shaven young man in an Army dress uniform, stepping into a grimy alley behind a cinema, to help out a scrawny, wheezing punk who couldn’t help but get into a fight over others being granted some human respect. It was just who he was. He was seeing one of the only people in his life who’d trusted and respected him when he’d been just Steve.

It was different. Different buttons pressed, different place, different time — literally a lifetime ago, but still somehow feeling like it was yesterday. As if he could just look over his shoulder and find Bucky there, shaking his head at Steve and slinging an arm around him.

Different. But somehow — just similar enough.

He shook his head, determinedly reeling the memory back inside where it belonged.

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered.

Tony turned his head sharply back to see him, his expression indiscernible. Steve cleared his throat, stubbornly ignoring the slight trembling he suddenly felt in his limbs.

“So you get into costume too. ‘Be as you aren’t,’ as I understand it.” Tony nodded, his shoulders slowly losing their visible tension, as he latched on to the conversation getting back on track into comfortable territory.

“Sure do. I’m guessing you’d be keen to partake too, and not be the boring and recognizable chaperone?”

“You guess right. For that sort of thing I’d rather not, well…” He was hesitant to admit it, for some reason.

“Be the star-spangled man with a plan?” Tony lightly jibed. Steve gave a nod.

“Yeah. That. You said Peter decided he wanted to be a dragon. Maybe I can be something that would fit in with that.” The mechanic raised his eyebrows.

“You want to be a dragon?” Steve gave him a distinctly unimpressed look.

“No. I said I wanted to fit in with that. I don’t know, same theme, I guess? I’ve only missed out on all pop culture since ‘Wizard of Oz’ was the big fantasy everyone knew.”

Tony gave him a horrified look. “You poor soul.”

“Gee, thanks,” Steve deadpanned back. Tony thought for a moment. Then, a smile of excitement crept over his face. It gave Steve a sense of foreboding.

“I know exactly what you need. JARVIS, make a note of the sizes Cap needs!”

“Certainly, Sir,” the AI replied.

“Ah, Hell,” Steve muttered. “Tony, I can go get my own costume. I really don’t need something ridiculous and embarrassing.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Cap, please. We’re in this together. Embarrassment for you is embarrassment for me by proximity. More importantly, we’re going for Peter. There’s a thin line with him between wanting to dress up and get buzzed on candy and have fun, and wanting to draw an excess of attention, most of which would be negative in that case. I’m not gonna screw up another Halloween for some brief, petty kicks.”

Steve nodded slowly, understanding replacing unease.

“Alright, then.” Tony just shook his head, amusement at whatever he was planning returning.

“Just meet us here at six on Friday. Or wait, you’ll have to change. Quarter till, then. We’ll set out from here.”

Still a bit bemused, Steve agreed.

***********

On the designated Friday, Steve arrived back at the tower at twenty minutes before six, out of habit. So, he simply stood outside a few minutes taking in the pleasant colors of the sky, before heading in. He’d been away on a training exercise with some SHIELD agents since he’d been by last, so he couldn’t meet with Peter at recess the last two days.

So, he might have anticipated Peter being a little excited to see him. What he didn’t anticipate was a miniature green and yellow fabric dragon charging around the corner in a comically adorable fast waddle, before “tackling” him and wrapping its small arms around his knees.

“Got you, Mr. Steve! Grr.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, the tightness that had been building back up in his shoulders and chest over the last days receding somewhat. He raised his arms in mock surrender.

“You sure do! What on Earth am I gonna do now? I’m totally at your mercy, fearsome Mr. Dragon. Don’t hurt me!”

The small winged reptilian let go, giggling. He stood back and lifted the hood of the costume, the dragon face that partially covered his own, and looked up at Steve, his cheeks pink with excitement. 

“I won’t hurt you, Mr. Steve. I’m the nice dragon going with you on an adventure, protecting you from bad guys.” He couldn’t help but feel something inside him melt a little at that.

“I see,” Steve said with a smile, patting Peter’s shoulder. “But if you’re the friendly dragon, who am I?”

“You,” replied a voice from around the same corner, “are a fighter, obviously. Maybe a paladin if we want to get into details.”

The person who appeared was wearing long, fantasy-looking brown robes with maroon accents, carrying a tall wooden-looking staff topped with a bright blue sphere, and inexplicably sported coppery red hair and a matching full beard, neither of which looked quite real.

“Ah,” Steve said, trying not to laugh. “And you’re, what, a wizard?”

“Or a sorcerer, I haven’t quite decided.” He stopped in front of the taller man and handed him a large plastic bag. “You’ll find everything you need in there; there’s a bathroom first door down that hall on the left. Chop chop, team fighter/paladin, we have a quest to get rolling.”

Steve sighed, accepted the bag, and trooped off the the designated bathroom.

When he emerged later in belted dark blue tunics, gray pants tucked into tall boots, fake chain mail with matching helmet and carrying a plastic sword and shield, Tony didn’t show him the same restraint Steve had shown him, and burst into laughter.

“Real nice there, Stark.” It probably didn’t help that Tony had included in his costume kit a wig and beard similar to his own, only in a dark brown instead of red.

Seeing Peter lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet made it worth it, though.

“Wow! You look even more fierce than normal. And Daddy’s the coolest wizard. This is gonna be the best adventure ever!”

And so, armed with flashlight, phones, inhaler and jack-o-lantern candy bucket (and bracelets to call an Iron Man suit tucked under Tony’s sleeves), the three heroes set off on their quest.

*************

Despite the noisy, colorful confrontation with how much his surroundings and the society it contained had changed (consumerism, thy name is America), Steve was having a legitimately good time. Perhaps even a better time than he’d dared hope for. 

It seemed having another adult, and Avenger to boot, to talk to did keep Tony’s anxieties under control, and for all his excitement, Peter didn’t seem to have difficulty in not straying farther than his father was comfortable with. Any time he wasn’t going up to another door to gather another piece of “loot,” he was holding one of their hands. Steve was deeply touched by that trust, and only hoped it wouldn’t cause renewed resentment from Tony. If the other man was bothered by it, he didn’t say anything. 

“So, since Bruce works at the tower at least some of the time, and he didn’t seem confused at what we were talking about the other day, I’m assuming he knows Peter too,” Steve mused idly as they walked.

“Yeah, they’ve met a good handful of times. I knew he’d be fun to brainstorm with, and Bruce seemed pretty much in the negative on the scale of ‘how dangerous is it for this person to know about my kid.’ On the other hand, he seems to be sort of nervous and uncomfortable around kids in general, ‘cause of the Other Guy I’d guess. I can kind of see his point. And both he and Petey are both off in their own heads so much, I didn’t see a point in trying to get them to hang out and bond, or whatever.”

“Makes sense. I certainly hope I don’t occupy a high spot on that scale,” Steve half-joked. Tony scoffed.

“Yeah, I’d say not. I’d be more concerned about Romanoff and Barton - especially Romanoff - In fact, in retrospect I’d be kind of pissed that she found out about him when she was undercover in S.I., but she seemed more surprised and amused than anything. And really, if anyone can keep a secret it’s her. Barton doesn’t know about Petey, unless she told him.”

“Mmn.” And they continued taking in the various small heroes, fairy tale creatures, and movie characters around them, the images of ghosts and zombies in windows, and even sometimes fabricated black-robed skeletons and ghouls that would suddenly jolt to life when sensing nearby motion, causing children to scream and laugh. Tony, after realizing there was no threat, would always look down and put a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder when that happened, so he didn’t see Steve startle at the first time. The soldier quickly caught on and adapted, his companion none the wiser.

It was interesting. It was even fun, after a while. He was immensely glad to see Peter having such a good time.

He should have known something would happen. That he’d mess it up somehow.

One of the residences they were approaching had gone with the method of leaving a candy bowl outside with a “please take one” message in plain view on a card. Peter and other child were approaching it a couple yards behind a gaggle of what looked to be somewhat older kids - old enough, he supposed, that their chaperones were farther away, if they hadn’t in fact been allowed to go unsupervised.

As they got closer, Steve could see the group at the bowl more clearly. He gaped when he saw the older kids grab fistfuls of miniature candy bars each with shouts of victory, before moving on with laughter.

It was like his feet were pasted firm to the ground. Like his brain had ground to a halt. What was their problem? He heard them speaking English, so it’s not like understanding the card was an issue. What the Hell? 

It was such a stupid, little thing. It shouldn’t matter.

But he noticed that the bowl was now empty, and he saw the calm disappointment on Peter’s face - he seemed more disappointed in the act itself than in the result. But the other kid…

His costume was noticeably simpler; he was dressed vaguely as what Steve recognized by now as a “Jedi,” some sort of sci-fi warrior from a famous movie series. A plain, long-worn white shirt and patched khaki pants with belt over top, and a cardboard gift-wrap roll painted to resemble a laser sword. He was plainly on the brink of tears, despite his mother quickly going to him from where she’d also been frozen with anger on the sidewalk, and put her arms around him, offering quiet words of comfort. And somehow, his expression suggested a sort of resignation, one that Steve recognized.

That little boy looked like he thought he, too, should have known.

He’d turned toward the receding band of young jerks and opened his mouth, not even knowing what he’d say.

“Steve.” A low voice at his shoulder broke in, a hand firmly planting itself on his bicep. He paused.

“Let it go. They’re just kids. Yeah, they’re assholes, but they’re just kids.”

If Steve wasn’t so pissed, he could have laughed.

He’d barely been spared being one of the “just kids” who had died in their cradles from influenza; the fact that he’d lived at all was either a mercy from God or sheer dumb luck. Thankfully he didn’t remember those days himself, but others certainly talked about it.

He’d been “just a kid,” three years old, when New York hosted the second International Eugenics Congress. His recall of that time was hazy; he remembered moments of his mother furiously ranting and crying in turns.

He’d been “just a kid,” along with thousands of others, struggling through hunger that seemed to stab through him, and again when his torso would be nearly launched clean off his thin mattress with the force of his coughs.

“Right,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Just kids.” How could he have expected Tony to understand?

But then, something else happened. Later, he’d realize that Peter unintentionally predicted it, in a way.

The little dragon had approached the young Jedi, stopping awkwardly a pace or two away, and reached an arm straight out the put a hand tentatively on the young boy’s shoulder, patting it a few times.

“It’s ok,” he said a bit stiltedly. “Those guys were mean. So when they eat it, it turns to mean candy. It’ll keep ‘em hyper really late and make their mommies and daddies annoyed. You can share mine.” And with that he withdrew a handful of the “loot” from his bucket and dropped it into the other boy’s bag. 

Steve let out a heavy breath, his throat suddenly clogging. The other boy blinked rapidly, seemingly in shock, before sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve. His mother didn’t seem to be faring much better, holding a hand over her mouth.

“T-Thank you,” the boy said quietly. He was silent a moment. “You’re a cool dragon,” he offered with a small smile. Peter readily returned it.

“You’re a cool Jedi.”

The woman thanked Peter as well, holding her hand out to him, which he briefly shook in his tiny hand topped with its green fabric claw before saying goodbye and turning back to his fellow adventurers. Seeing Tony and Steve as his clear minders, she nodded with quiet gratitude to them as well. Steve could only return it silently, while Tony smiled, looking a bit stunned himself.

As the three collected themselves mentally and began walking again, Peter situated himself between Tony and Steve, and letting his bucket hand on his arm, held hands with both of them. Suddenly, Steve felt an intense compulsion to make sure Peter knew how much his simple act meant to the soldier. But he still couldn’t form words, so he settled for giving the boy’s hand a gentle squeeze, briefly running a thumb over the small knuckles. Looking up at Steve, Peter gave him a warm smile, and returned the squeeze.

It turned out, the nice dragon had protected the warrior - just not in the normal way. He didn’t protect him from pirates or assassins or wild beasts, but from his own grief and old hurts.

It meant the world to the warrior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious about how Steve's internal characterization reads in this chapter. It feels like there's a thin line between sincere hurt and frustration at events / circumstances and being a stereotypical old curmudgeon who's constantly bitching about the modern era / young generation ("Back in my day!"). And I definitely agree with a recent post that talks about how inaccurate the image of pre-serum Steve as an "constantly fighting angry chihuahua" is. There's only one scene in TFA where he gets into a fight he knows he can't win when it's not someone's life on the line, and it's to defend the dignity of someone else. Others bait or sabotage him but he doesn't get angry or defiant. I'd be grateful if someone could let me know how it reads here.
> 
> Also, the next chapter will probably be a bit more long-term, with smaller scenes / reflections spaced out over a few months.
> 
> Yeah, I made them a compressed version of a D&D squad. What about it? I started a campaign with my buddies this summer and I'm a dweeb. Bards for the win. Also, witness my attempt at re-creating child logic.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Halloween, Tony and Steve begin a series of minor miscommunications. They both do some internal work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disregard note on last chapter about timing; this chapter covers about a month rather than several, 'cause I wanted to get a chapter out.

It was fortunate that they’d already been turning back toward the tower when they’d encountered the older children and the little Jedi, because Peter begun growing rapidly fatigued not fifteen minutes after. When he started unintentionally dragging his feet and blinking slowly and repeatedly, Steve accepted Tony’s wizard staff so the other man could lift the young dragon up into his arms. He would have called Jarvis to send one of his self-driving-enabled cars, but they were close enough that it wouldn’t make much difference.

“You’re starting to get too big for this, little guy,” he muttered quietly. “And that’s just not acceptable. You’re forbidden from growing any more.”

“Maybe it’s the costume adding bulk,” Steve offered. Tony smirked appreciatively.

“That, Cap, is an excellent point. Yep, my little bugger’s just poofy tonight, that’s all.”

They continued in comfortable silence.

Unfortunately, after Peter’s energy took a gradual downward turn, so too did Steve’s patched and bandaged mood. As much as he still appreciated and was proud of Peter’s kindness, He was still disproportionately frustrated at the situation that had prompted it. And it was such a small, insignificant moment in the bigger picture. He was both upset at the situation and annoyed at his inability to let it go. Which probably influenced his word choices once they reached the tower.

They had entered and Tony had gently laid Peter down on the couch before Steve turned to him with an awkward attempt at a smile.

“Thanks for having me along tonight. I appreciate it; I was glad you both got to have a good time. How much do I owe you for the costume?”

The shorter man turned to him, staring with his mouth just slightly open. He shook his head.

“Steve… come on. You don’t have to do that. It’s taken care of.” Steve insisted.

“I didn’t come along thinking you’d pay for it. I’ve got back pay from the Army for the time I was missing; it’s not like I can’t cover it.” But Tony kept staring, obviously not on the same page.

“Cap, that’s not the point. It’s one chintzy Halloween costume; it’s no big deal for me. It’s fine.” Steve felt his jaw tensing. He couldn’t help but remember the threadbare outfit of that other little boy.

“It’s really not,” he replied lowly. Tony frowned, clearly starting to get frustrated. 

“What’s the problem? You can’t accept a simple gift? Is that really what’s happening here?” he asked with a hint of challenge. Steve felt a knot forming in his gut.

“I don’t — I don’t know,” he hissed, growing more tense. Tony tilted his slightly sideways at that, surprised away from anger.

“Seriously?”

Steve couldn’t explain it; all he knew was that Tony’s words had kicked a cold fire to life inside him.

They were both distracted in that moment by quiet whimpers coming from the couch, at which Tony promptly turned around and sat on its edge, pushing a hand under Peter’s hood to run a hand through his hair with quiet shushing. Steve didn’t know if Peter had heard their terse voices through the haze of sleep, or had begun dreaming of something unrelated. He didn’t want to find out.

“I should go,” he said with a heavy exhale.

“Steve-“ Tony started. But the soldier was already backing towards the door.

“Tell — tell him I had fun tonight. I mean, that’s the truth. He’s a good kid. I’ll… I’ll be there on Monday. If SHIELD doesn’t call.”

And then he was gone.

************

Tony knew from Peter that Steve had kept his word and continued showing up for drawing at recess. But he didn’t hear anything from the man himself. Which, when he thought about, was not at all strange. They’d hung out, what, two evenings and an afternoon? Plus their meeting in the park that first day? And everything before that was the approximately two and a half days on the job back during the Chitauri crisis? This wasn’t at all strange. 

It was fine. Who cared if it was basically radio silence? It didn’t seem to be having any negative effect on Peter, so it wasn’t his responsibility. Rogers was the one who had freaked out over nothing, and then run out.

…Oh. Well, he couldn’t exactly act like he’d never done something similar in his life. Damn.

Purely out of a confused and maybe slightly, vaguely guilty sense of curiosity, he grabbed his phone and texted the behavioral health doctor he’d grown the least defensive with over the last few months.

[Hey Doc. Question. Hypothetically, what in your professional opinion would cause someone to get pissy over being gifted a chintzy Halloween costume and then beat a hasty exit from the conversation?]

He deposited himself at his desk and reluctantly went over some business emails from Pepper for a few minutes until he received a reply.

[It’s impossible to say for certain, especially without further information about them. Some people are just touchy about money, and don’t like being the object of what they might perceive to be charity or a pity gift. Some people have been made to feel like a financial burden in the past. Did this hypothetical person ever experience poverty or ongoing major financial strain?]

Oh. Ooh.

Fuuuuuck. 

He sighed, taking a moment to indulge in a face-palm, before straightening and typing a reply.

[Short answer: yes. On a related note, I may have made just a bit of an ass of myself.]

Only a few seconds passed before he got the next message.

[What about this no-longer-hypothetical conversation leads you to think that?]

He shook his head with a mix of irritation and respect.

[I can literally feel the professionally-disguised sarcasm oozing through the screen. I think you know by now the ways in which I’m liable to make an ass of myself, especially based on what I already told you. I just needed someone to ask the right question. See, this is why you get the big paychecks.]

[I thought it had to do more with the actual decades of combined schooling and experience which makes me professionally appealing to those such as yourself. But sure, we’ll go with that. Back on track?]

“Back on track” was the doc’s subtle way of making sure his questions were answered and he was confident in his ability to carry on with his day or at least attempt to address whatever the issue was on his own.

[Back on track. Same time, same place, all that jazz. Thanks, Doc.]

[No problem, Tony.]

He sat back in his chair with a sigh.

Despite his considerably busy days, by the end of the week, Tony had to pause and admit it was within his ability to reach out to Captain friggin’ America and maybe possibly apologize for unintentionally rubbing his wealth and privilege in the other guy’s formerly really unprivileged face. He’d pulled up Steve’s number on his phone, only to give a small jump he wouldn’t admit to when it pinged with an incoming text — from Steve.

[So— got any recommendations for that ‘help’ that can deal with a soldier from the 40’s?]

Tony gave a small smile, before typing a reply.

[I’m sure I can scrounge up the number of someone who can manage it.]

************

A week later, Steve was back at the tower. Bruce had a bit of free time from his city-related research, and had brought up how it might be prudent to get an idea of what dosages of painkiller or anesthesia Steve’s metabolism might require, in the likely but unfortunate event the information would be needed in the future. Steve agreed, and when the testing was over and the medical information compiled and securely saved, Tony stepped away from his work on his suit to again walk the soldier out.

“So, lousy though I am at such things, I’m feeling compelled to ask: How’re you doing, Steve?” The other man paused a moment.

“Alright,” he replied, rather noncommittally. “Dr.- I mean, one of the professionals you referred me to suggested I try to socialize more. I mean, with adults. Outside of work. To start with, before really getting into the — the heavy stuff, I guess. ‘Ground myself emotionally,’ is what they said.”

“Well hey, that is some sound advice, Cap. If I might offer an unsolicited opinion, though? Avoid the bar scene. You might find a perfectly American bar on almost every corner, but that way lies only disappointment.” Steve shrugged.

“Considering I metabolize alcohol too fast for it to have a real affect, the full intended experience would be lost on me. Besides, I’d have thought a guy with your image and connections wouldn’t be familiar with a typical bar so much as your high-society parties.” Tony gave a casual smirk.

“We all have our teenage rebellion.” Steve gave a short huff of humor.

“If you say so. Most of what you’d likely consider ‘rebellious’ would have put me six feet under back then. At least taken to the extremes you’re probably talking about.” Tony shook his head, aghast.

“No teen rebellion phase? That’s a shame. I’d almost say go wild now to make up for lost time. Somehow I doubt that’d be up your alley.”

“That’s putting it pretty mildly.”

“You can still get out there and do stuff, though. Theatre, concerts, galleries; there’s about three jillion adult classes you could take through colleges or agencies, about pretty much anything under the sun. Or hell, there’s always like five or ten movies coming out a week. Take your pick, or several.”

“It’s certainly a lot to take in, even now. There’s almost more options to choose from in any one of those things than we used to have all together. I’ll definitely find something to try.”

“That’s the spirit.”

**************

In retrospect, Tony wondered if he may have been a tad excessive in the “encouraging,” following a phone call to the illustrious Captain.

“So, Steve,” he began in leu of an actual greeting, “I’m assuming that serum took care of any food allergies, right?”

“As far as I know, yeah,” the other man replied.

“So Thursday should have no problems for you.” There was a moment of quiet, followed by a rather confused-sounding, inflection-less reply.

“Thursday.”

“Yeah, Thursday. Duh. Thanksgiving. Remember? Did they not have that in the 40’s?”

“They did.” Still that weird tone.

“So you’ll be here, right?”

Silence. Tony frowned. He knew his connection was damn excellent.

“Cap? Still there?”

“I’m here. You’re… inviting me to Thanksgiving Dinner?” Tony scoffed.

“Um, yeah, I thought that was obvious. Don’t expect me to believe that SHIELD puts together a homey spread for everyone to get sentimental around.”

“I… I hadn’t thought I’d known you two long enough to be part of the Thanksgiving crowd. I thought people still considered it a ‘family’ thing.”

That… was… true. In fact, as off-throwing as Steve’s remark was, he could hardly disagree. Bizarre. In fact, when had he decided he was inviting Cap? Why had he decided he was inviting Cap? It wasn’t like Petey had been on his case about it; not that the kid would object, he knew, but he’d been drawing with Steve more school days than not, which Tony always got a brief but amusing recap of. His son wasn’t exactly running up a deficit of time with his new pal. 

He shook his head a moment, pulling his brain back to the conversation.

“… Huh. Yeah. Well, usually. I mean, that’s still the general idea. I guess I just figured, since you’re still pretty new to this century…” 

But he got a regretful sigh.

“I really appreciate the offer, Tony. Truly, I do. It’s just, I — I’ve made plans.”

“Oh. Um. Right.” Silence again. He thought he could actually hear the soldier awkwardly shifting his weight. Weirdly, he realized he was too.

“And hey, I was there for Halloween. I didn’t expect you to want to share Petey with me for two holidays in a row,” Steve finally said with an impressive balance of courteous humor and light self-deprecation. Tony took the hint.

“Heh. Right. Well, you know, I wasn’t gonna mention it to be nice, but since you bring it up…” 

He was relieved to hear Steve recognize the (mostly) joke for what it was.

“See? I have my moments, occasionally.” He nodded.

“That you do. So, uh, enjoy your undoubtedly wholesome holiday plans then.”

“You too, Tony. Tell Peter I said Happy Thanksgiving, would you?”

“I think I can manage that.”

“Thanks.” In spite of the rejected invitation, he could hear genuine warmth in the simple word, before they said their farewells and hung up.

Weird. 

Whatever. He needed to order a turkey, and design something. That’d re-charge his brain from the awkward conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Tony's therapist sounds kind of snarky and less professional than typical, that's what I was hoping for to a degree. Only a snarky Doc can handle a snarky Tony, in my opinion.
> 
> Additional Note: I've got roughly six more chapters semi-planned so far, which are approx. 1/3 or 2/5 already written, but it will likely end up being a little longer, (since resolution is the elephant in my brain I have to address some time) going off how it turned out every time I tried to estimate how much was left during "If Yoda Can Meddle." So, I estimate 25-28 k words total for this labor of weirdness, give or take. just so's y'all know:)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've seen plenty of great Stony / Superfamily fics, some where it's Steve who has the first connection to Peter, sometimes it's Tony, but so far I haven't seen any that built it in a way that's directly tied to Steve's trauma and adjusting upon thawing, so, if you want something done...
> 
> I admit fully right now I'm not that familiar with asthma, so if I make a glaring error, let me know in the comments and I'll try to fix it. I'll aim to devote enough attention to it to do it justice.
> 
> Similar with the depression. I'm familiar with a couple of the symptoms I describe in Steve, but not the whole enchilada. I definitely wanted to acknowledge that it's not just being sad all the time.
> 
> Unbetaed, I still love constructive feedback.
> 
> Fun fact, this chapter was kind of written in reverse: end, then beginning and middle. Also, guess who "Nana" is.


End file.
